Little, Unfortunate Child
by The Butterfly Mistress
Summary: At twelve years old, Derek has yet to see the evil that the world has to offer, but when he's kidnapped, he gets a glimpse. Will he survive being stuck in a confined space with an animalistic companion? If he does survive, what will that mean for the both of them?
1. Little Unfortunate Child

**Disclaimer:** I don't own criminal minds or any of it's characters.

 **A/N:** I hope you enjoy this. I wrote it in one sitting; it remains unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own.

As you guys may have noticed, I am partial to writing about mental illness. I am not overly knowledgeable, just the research I do on my own, or the information I gather from my psych classes. So, I hope this is accurately portrayed. If not, all helpful criticism is welcome.

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 **Little, Unfortunate Child**

Derek knew the moment that he laid eyes on the pitiful, sack of bones that he would never be the same again. Curious eyes still showed bright in the sunken sockets, as if a flickering flame was still alit somewhere in the tortured mind, but the cowering form and keening spoke otherwise. Derek eased closer, to get a better look, in the cramped quarters they now shared. One moment the malnourished body pressed closer to the corner, and the next, it had lunged, teeth bared, to pin Derek to the floor.

"Aah! Get off me! Get off me, man," he demanded, scrambling to shove the sinewy creature off him. The twelve year old backed away and held his hands up as a shield. "It's ok. I'm not here to hurt you. If I had been strong enough, I wouldn't be here now. But don't worry, little man, my dad's a cop, and he's going to rescue us both. I promise."

The more Derek talked, the more relaxed the other figure became. Chapped lips opened and closed, mimicking a fish as Derek spoke, but no sound escaped. As the atmosphere calmed, the cold crept into Derek's awareness. He rubbed at his arms, fast and rough, to stimulate some heat. Without permission, his teeth began to chatter, interrupting the peaceful silence.

Chocolate orbs took in the modest living space, the dangling light fixture casting shadows in all the corners. There wasn't much to see. A small mattress, toddler size, rested in the back, right corner, bare of any bedding. To the left of the door, closest to the opening, set two bowls, with balls and bones as decoration. The red bowl with colorful bowls had murky water dancing in its depths. Derek curled his lips in disdain. The lingering rancid stench that invaded his nostrils did little to quell his turning stomach. The other bowl was empty.

Derek eased away from the door, toward the center of the room, there he sat and waited, knees drawn up with arms wrapped around them. He could stand a smelly, cold, enclosure with a crazy companion for a little bit, his dad would be there before he knew it to take him away from all the gross, uncomfortable, scariness. His cellmate watched his every move, Derek was sure he hadn't even blinked, and when he was sure the kid was just going to keep his distance, he closed his eyes to regroup and think. He was startled by a small finger, poking at his arm and then his cheek. The grimy appendage left brown smudges where it touched.

He eyed him, wary, ignoring the prodding. The kid was a little boy, no older than a four or five year old, concluded Derek. Sunken, dark eyes were clouded with fear, wild with curiosity. The smudges and smell on the stretched thin skin hinted at living in dirt and waste, while the bony figure with a swollen stomach spoke volumes of years of neglect. The entire picture made Derek sick to his stomach. He may have complained about his parent's strictness from time to time, or argued with his sisters, but he would never deny the love and care his family had for one another.

The exploration turned to petting, and while he was disgusted by whatever was being smeared on his skin and clothes, he knew that his reaction could make or break his relationship with the kid. He held still until his body began to cramp, and then he tried to ease into a new position without interrupting the scene. A low growl emitted from the boy in warning, but it quietened when Derek finished moving.

Without a clock or windows, time didn't seem to have any meaning. What had to have been hours passed by, and Derek was beginning to get tired. His companion had lost interest in him for now and had sauntered to the corner of the space with the bed. With no desire to be attacked again, Derek laid down where he was to rest. The area parallel to the bed turned out to be the bathroom, which is why the room smelled so bad. He wanted to stay far away from there; there was no telling what disease was waiting to jump on him. The wall with door in the middle allowed too much cool air in to sleep, so he opted for the center, underneath the light. Sleep was lulling his consciousness when there was a pull at his arm. Derek's eyes sprung open to see the kid tugging at him insistent, when their eyes met, the younger boy pointed to the corner with the bed. Maybe he wasn't all crazy then.

He allowed himself to be guided over to the mattress and went to sit down, watching the kid to make sure this is what he wanted. There was no sense in misinterpreting and adding injury to insult. The flimsy cushion sank with his weight and his hand brushed a hardening substance. He jerked his arm back and sniffed. He was going to puke. Whatever he touched stank and was mushy. Hightailing it over to the water dish, he plunged his hand in; even dirty water would wash away the bulk of the grossness. Drying his hands on his jeans he went back to the center of the room and lay down again. The little, unfortunate child, or Luc, for short, crawled back to him and narrowed his eyes at him, pulling at him again.

"No," he told him, hoping he could understand. "That's just gross, man; I'm not going to sleep over there." He curled back up again, arm tucked underneath his head. Luc copied the action, facing him.

Luc drew lines in and curved into the earthy floor, and for an instance, Derek was hopeful that he was trying to write, but there was no pattern or legible letters. The closest was two lines resembling a V between two other straight lines, or a two curves that came together to look like an S. The disappointed huff sent particles of dirt dancing over the childlike gibberish, catching Luc's attention. Luc mirrored Derek's disappointment and turned away from him. To Derek, it seemed the kid was more like a smart monkey than a little kid, and while it made his heart hurt for him, it didn't really didn't make him want to like him. Why get close to someone who can't be helped. When Derek's dad got there, they would be rescued, and while Derek would get to go home to a loving family, the kid would be sent off to some sort of institution, not much better than a kennel.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before help came. Days? Weeks? Months? Their kidnapper had fed them a few times, and had refreshed the water too, but there hadn't seemed to be a pattern for that. Maybe it had been away to keep them disoriented. Either way, by the time the police had found them, by the time Derek had been wrapped in his mom and dad's arms, tears pouring from them all, Derek had almost lost hope. Luc had eaten bugs, trudged feces around their living space when he'd go to the corner to relieve himself, had lashed out at Derek when Derek couldn't or wouldn't try to understand his idiotic drawings. By the end, Luc had left Derek to the center and went back to the mattress by himself. The thumping that would erupt in the silence turned out to be the boy banging his head, and Derek had tried to make him stop, but hadn't the strength or motivation to enforce his words.

An ambulance had whisked him away, leaving others to try and coax Luc out of his home. Derek thought about him often, but didn't bother to ask about him. Did he really want to know what became of the animalistic child? Probably not. A hot shower did wonders for his spirit and more food than he could eat fixed most of the rest. The hospital said he came out malnourished and dehydrated, but otherwise fine. His momma prayed and prayed, thanking the Lord Jesus for the safety and health of her baby boy. His sisters brought him comic books and candy and told him out happy they were to have him back, and his dad hugged him and told him how proud he was of his boy. Every once in a while his dad would disappear for a bit, he'd always come back solemn and hold his family tight. He never said a word about what was wrong, at least not to Derek and the girls. Derek pretended not to wonder what was going on, pretended to hope it wasn't about the boy who had been in that shed like prison with him.

Three days afterward and he was released to go home. While the doctor was gathering up his papers, his parents set all three kids down for a family meeting. Derek was both relieved and angry that his pop's had been going to check in on the kid. It turned out that their captor was kid's father, who had murdered his schizophrenic wife before having a psychotic break of his own. That had happened four years ago. The man had imprisoned his own four year old son, treating him like a dog or worse. He had tried to give his son companions in his lucid moments of grief, but they always ended up dying. Derek had been the eighth child to go missing in four years. Thankfully, the BAU had stepped in help the police and there had been a good turnout.

Luc's real name was Spencer Reid, and the doctor's had hope for him, but it was going to be a lot of work and he was going to need a lot of support. With no family to his name, he would become a ward of the state and sent to an institution equipped to handle his mental facilities, but unfortunately, doctors could not give him a family's love. So, being the people they were, Derek's parents had offered to take Spencer in. It was not going to be easy, and some sacrifices would have to be made, but they felt it was the right decision to be made. Spencer wouldn't be released from the hospital for a while yet, but that just gave them time to set up and figure some stuff out.

Derek had been angry and had lashed out at his parents. He had spent weeks or more with the kid. He knew what he was capable of, and it wasn't anything human! It had ended in a panic attack. Mrs. Morgan wrapped her son up in her arms and rocked him, soothing the fear and pain. She reassured him and promised everything would be alright, to just have a little patience and faith. There was enough love to go around.

Four weeks later, Derek's dad came home with one Spencer Reid, fuller cheeks, brighter eyes, and a wary serenity about him. He looked unsure on his feet and clung to the pants leg of Mr. Morgan. Spencer had yet to utter a word and he still lashed out to or threw a tantrum to get his needs met, but it was getting a bit better. His eyes fell on Derek and they lit up with unequivocal joy. His mouth opened and closed like fish, little grunts and sighs emitting. He fell to his knees and crawled his way to his friend, the one who saved him. Sat at Derek's feet, brow furrowed, his noises became frustrated. He grabbed at his wrist and tugged, hard, healed pink lips forming silent gibberish. Derek took pity on the boy and sank to the floor. Moving slowly so Spencer could object, he pulled the barely bigger than a five-year-old, eight-year-old boy into his arms and held him close.

"Welcome home, brother."

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 **A/N** : No, I haven't stopped working on my Sherlock story, it's just a bit harder without my muse as back up and motivation. I hope you enjoyed this story, let me know what you thought!


	2. Time Stamp: What's in a Word

A/N: I don't know how I feel about this. It didn't turn out the way I had intended at all... and I'm not sure how to go about fixing it. Let me know your thoughts and critiques, if any. Also, if there's something specific you'd like to see delved into, certain events or scenes, let me know. I'll see what I can do. Hope this isn't too bad and you enjoy it. Apologies for the long wait!

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 **What's in a Word**

It said a lot that Spencer's first word after so much trauma was Derek's name, or a portion of his name anyway; just as much could be said that no one was surprised. Whatever barrier had blocked the child's tongue had loosened with that one, small, mispronounced name. Afterward, names and words flowed out the thin-lipped mouth as is if he had never stopped speaking.

In the several months that Spencer had been living with the Morgan's, doctors and specialists alike had assessed him, until Spencer stopped cooperating with them. Everyday seemed to be a learning experience in dealing with the child, but the entire household adapted to the needed changes. Sometimes the kids made sacrifices willingly, other times they were made begrudgingly under a stern eye and a firm hand. Coping came easier with progression.

Physically, Spencer would always be on the thinner side, but his body was beginning to look healthy again with the Fran's home cooked meals and generous portions. His cheeks had a healthy, almost cherubic appearance, and his atrophied muscles filled out into a lean and lithe form. He was gaining on Derek in height, too.

All the reports that Fran and Hank were given stated that Spencer was bright, quite intelligent given his circumstances. Both parents were thrilled that their youngest would be able to reach his fullest potential, that there weren't any permanent injuries that would stand in his way. Unfortunately, Spencer realized his restricted for the time being and would often become angry, bordering on rebellious, when faced with said limitations. It frustrated him daily. He was passing milestones faster than expected, but nothing came quick enough in Spencer's opinion. He'd been locked away for half of his life, he was determined that nothing would ever hold him back again.

"Whoa. Slow down there, little man," Derek grabbed at his brother's shoulders, preventing him from crossing the street.

Spencer pulled at the grasp, grunting in protest. "Der, stop!"

Derek restrained the smaller boy, hugging him against his body, holding tight to the protesting upper limbs. "Chill out, Spencer. What's wrong?" He loosened his grip when the struggling form sagged in defeat.

"Nothing, I just want to get home." Spencer chewed at his lips and scratched at his left forearm.

Derek quirked a brow and gave the boy a once over. He reached out and pulled the offending hand away from his arm. "Then what's with the bad lips?" At Spencer's silence, he tried again, "Come on kid, you can tell me now, or let momma interrogate you when you get home, which is it going to be?"

Blonde hair fell to mask his face, lips pursed tight. His shoulders sagged low with a heavy sigh and he glanced through his bangs to glare at his brother. "I'm stupid, okay?" The defiant tone did little cover the misery.

"Who told you that," Derek demanded, eyes scrunched in anger.

"Nobody had to say it, I just know."

Derek's face softened at the pitiful self-loathing. "You're not stupid, far from it in fact. What makes you think that you're not smart?"

Spencer sighed and sat down on the schoolyard curb. "I hear the other kids whispering and giggling when I try to read out loud. The teachers look at me with pity when I have to ask how to say a word or what it means, such simple, stupid words. And the other kids get mad at me when I get math problems right, like I'm some sort of idiot freak."

"First off, don't ever let me hear you talk about yourself that way ever again, you got me?" At Spencer's timid nod, he continued. "Secondly, you can read just fine, you're just a little behind for obvious reasons. Screw those other kids. They've had a lot longer to practice and still aren't that far ahead. And if you want to go by those measures, then you're way smarter than them if they don't know how to do the advanced math you do."

"Math's just easy, Der. It is what it is and means what it says."

"There you go, proof that they are dumber than you. They can't understand something that should be easy." He stuck his tongue out at the younger boy, teasing, and ruffled his sandy locks. "Come on, let's get home and I'll help you practice reading if you want."

"Yeah, ok." He still seemed discouraged, but at least a little bit of light had returned to his eyes, and a hard-earned smile lit up his face.

The two boys set about making their way home, discussing what they were learning in school. Derek left out the bits where school was hard for him, not academically, but socially. All the kids seemed to be aware of the incident that had led Spencer to live with him, and they treated a bit like a freak, too.

When they entered their home, the wondrous scent of baked lemon chicken filled the air. Derek could swear there was an underlying trace of cinnamon apples, that usually mean that Fran had made a homemade apple pie. The older of the two licked his lips in anticipation. With the 'thunk' of the door closing behind them, Fran called out.

"Derek? Spencer? Is that you, babies?"

"Yes, Mrs- momma, we're home," Spencer answered, correcting himself with unease.

The amendment went ignored, it was an improvement from Mr. and Mrs. Morgan and Mr. Hank and Mrs. Fran. The exuberant woman hustled into the living room to greet her children, using a handcloth to dry her hands as she walked. She smiled at the boys and caressed their cheeks when she leant down to lay a kiss on each forehead. "Did you boys have a good day at school?"

Spencer shrugged his assent and lowered his head. Derek gave his mother a significant look and shook his head. "Yeah, momma, it was fine." He gave a pointed sniff and asked, "When's dinner?"

Fran laughed at her son's antics and swatted the side of his head with the towel in her hands. "As soon as you wash up and seat your hindquarters at the table, mister." She laughed again at the thunderous footsteps heading up the stairs to do her bidding. She called out once more, "Tell your sisters to clean up and come down, too."

Another click of the front door alerted Fran that her husband was home from work. He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder. He breathed in deeply before letting it out slowly, relaxing in their pseudo embrace. His breath caused a stray curl of hair to dance about her ear. "Long day, dear?"

"A bit, no more than usual. How about you?" He swayed them to a song only he could hear.

"Productive," she hummed in return as she snuggled closer into his larger frame. Four pairs of feet shuffling down the stair interrupted their quiet moment. Raised voices and the occasional knock against the wall broke them apart. Hank went to settle the kids while Fran moved dinner to the table. "Hank, you better have clean hands before you sit down at my table!"

Derek grinned cheekily at his father as he shoved his sister down the last stair, "Yeah, Pops, or no dinner for you." He stuck his tongue out before he launched into his father's waiting arms. "Momma made apple pie," he mumbled into Hank's neck, eyes closed and content. His father's chuckle reverberated through his entire being and his grin grew.

Hank set his son back down in front of a waiting Spencer and proceeded to hug the quiet boy to him, too. Spencer was reticent, but returned the embrace nonetheless. Afterward he pat both boys' heads and started up the stairs. "Go on to the table, now, before your momma gets after me. I'll be there in a minute."

At the table, after grace was said, food was passed around. Chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans filled each plate, and each party was given a slice of homemade bread. Chatter mixed with the heavenly scent, each child vying for attention. Even Spencer was eager to inform the parents of his advanced placement in math.

When the conversations tempered and the food no more than a game or art project on their plates, Fran took charge. "Tomorrow I have a meeting with all your teachers, is there anything I should know that you would rather tell me first?" At their silence, she nodded to herself. "Alright, then please clear the table and get ready for bed. Desiree, it's your turn to do the dishes."

In bed, tucked safe and warm beneath the comforter, Spencer stared up at the glowing stars on their bedroom ceiling. "Derek," he called to his brother softly.

"Wha'?" came the mumbled askance.

"Is momma going to be mad that I didn't tell her about not being able to read?"

There was a long pause and Spencer felt sure that Derek had fallen asleep. "Momma and pops already know you have trouble with letters and words, they aren't going to be mad. In fact, you'll probably be harassed to let them help you more," he sniggered.

A silent shudder ran down his spine and he giggled lightly. "I don't want them to help me. I just want to do it," he said. The silence took over again. "Derek, she asked though. She asked and I didn't say anything."

"Because it's nothing new. Pretty boy, listen, it's okay. She's not going to be upset; pops' isn't going to be upset. It's fine; you're fine."

Derek had been swept into a doze when the younger boy spoke up once more, "Der, I don't want to go back…" The slight hitch in his breathing, the tremble in his words, had Derek up and over at the other bed in an instant. He crawled up under the blankets and curled around his little brother, providing the only comfort he knew to give. He wasn't sure if there was a deeper meaning to Spencer's words or to just take them at face value, either way they would haunt for quite some time.

"It's going to be alright, little brother. You'll see."

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A/N: Let me know your thoughts and critiques, if any. Also, if there's something specific you'd like to see delved into, certain events or scenes, let me know. I'll see what I can do.


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